Every Little Butterfly
by blopez22
Summary: In a desperate time of war, Zeus tries to find the perfect hero... only, that hero doesn't exist. Hannah, Mason, and Justin are a new kind of hero. Living in a world that has been around forever literally it is obvious no one excepts this change...
1. Prologue

Prologue

_"D__on't forget what I told you," he whispered. He seemed like talking to her was the _last_ thing he wanted to do. _

_ "What? Do you not _trust _me?" she snarled, her snakes slivering around her neck as if at any moment they would strangle her. He didn't blame them. Nonetheless he still badly wanted to give her a haircut. _

_ "Don't go there, Medusa," he replied icily. "I just want this over and done with." _

_ "You sound as if you're making a deal with the devil," Medusa smiled grimly. "Then again he _is _your brother. And _don't _rush me. This must be perfect." _

_ "So why are you helping me?" he asked. "I know you well enough to believe that you would never turn good."_

_ "Because, I figure you will owe me something in return," Medusa smiled, "and after all, there _are _two of them." _

_ "No, no, no!" he shouted. "There must be three!" _

_ "There will be," Medusa said. "Patience!" _

_ "Fine," he hesitated. "Which one do you wish to have?" _

_ "Very good, Zeus. You are making a wise decision. I would choose the girl, because that would absolutely kill you. You've always been selfish so I'm sure you want one of each." Medusa played with one of her snakes. "I choose the boy, he shall be useful." Zeus swallowed hard. _


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Hannah:

Silence can be the scariest thing in the world. Especially when it isn't something you are used to. I grew up in a house where love was just a four-letter word and fighting was just what you did when you were mad at someone. My parents aren't bad people (or at least my mom isn't bad), but they weren't meant for each other... or for my brother and I. Whenever my parents start screaming, my little brother, Justin, runs into my room. If I were three years-old and all my parents did was scream, I'd be scared too.

I put my brother down in his bean bag chair that lives in my room for moments like these. But something was wrong and my brother was the first to sense it. "No sound?" He was right. His little hands started fumbling with the zipper on his jacket. I motioned for Justin to say there while I went downstairs to see what was going on. It wasn't normal for my parents to just stop screaming so abruptly. I went down the hall of our small apartment to the kitchen where I found my mother crying on the floor. I swallowed hard. My mother wasn't one to cry, unless she was _really _drunk. Though my mother usually had a cigarette in one hand and a martini in the other, today she looked completely sober.

"Mom, where's dad?" I asked slowly, I was afraid she might snap. She looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes and mascara running down her face. I didn't want to hate my mother, but I didn't want feel bad for her either. I helped her up and tried giving her a hug, it turned out to be a very awkward failed attempt.

"He left me for some slut he met at the bar." She looked up at me as if she just noticed what she said. "Sorry, Hannah... I didn't mean to..." Like I said before, she means well. Its just she sometimes forgets I'm her fourteen year-old daughter, not one of her drinking-buddies.

"I'm sorry, mom," I replied solemnly. I didn't know what else to say... it wasn't my fault that my dad left, it wasn't my fault she married the guy who knocked her up in high school. But I wasn't going to tell the crying thirty year-old in the kitchen that everything was her fault, either. Especially because if she hadn't gotten pregnant in the first place, my brother and I would never have been born.

"Thanks," my mom looked at down at her feet. "I'm gonna be sick!" with her arm over my shoulder, I helped my mom limp over to the nearest toilet, where I then held her hair back as she puked. We have a great mother-daughter relationship don't we?

I went to my room and carried Jason—who was now snoring his little head off—over to my bed. His room was right next door to my mother's and the last thing he needs is to fall asleep to his mother crying and swearing. I didn't fall asleep that night... little did I know that I wouldn't be able to sleep for a while after that, either. So I stared at the ceiling keeping my breathing in time with Justin's snores.

Though I hadn't been sleeping, somehow after being motionless for so long I went into a sort of trance. I was daydreaming... only it was a night... but it wasn't a _real _dream, because I wasn't asleep—does that make any sense whatsoever? Either way this is what happened:

I was standing in a large farm house but I could tell it hadn't actually been used as one in a while. Trophies and medallions lived on the walls among pictures of what looked like the Greek gods from my Latin class. Without my control my dream-self walked up stairs into the attic of the strange house. I was a spectator, meant to watch the game not play it.

Up in the attic were boxes of what you'd think was just junk, until you took a closer look. Inside the boxes were statues, oil paintings, and figurines of forgotten heroes. I felt cold air on the back of my neck. When I turned to see what it was I wanted to scream, only my dream-self wouldn't let me. There _standing _before me was a mummy. She looked thousands of years old to say the least. Smoke danced from her mouth as her words appeared in my head.

_"Welcome, Hannah, Grace of the gods,"_ she seemed to say, _"we have been expecting you." _

I was knocked out of the 'trance' at around three in the morning when I guess my father came home to get all his stuff. A chill crept up my back. Of course my mother threw a fit—and her fits were never quiet—and she dropped all of dad's things outside from the fire escape. We live on the fifteenth floor. Let's just say that his football-phone didn't survive the fall.

If you were a innocent bystander walking by at the time and are prone to panic attacks then that was a not-so-classic case of wrong place at the wrong time. If you were not startled by the huge man in his boxers screaming at the "stupid broken ladder" as it collapsed under his weight, then maybe the avalanche of lingerie that was definitely not my mother's, or the cheap bottles of wine and beer as they splattered in an interesting array of alcohol and glass. Now this was just what I saw from my window and I was only watching for a few minutes.

I couldn't help but smile and think to myself, "You go, mom!"

"Hally?" Justin asked me as he yawned and stretched his arms. He still couldn't pronounce my name just right—though I was sure 'Hally' and 'Hannah' sounded nothing alike... but nonetheless that was who I was to him.

"Yes?"

"Where did daddy go?" He pulled his eyebrows together looking as frustrated as a three year-old can get.

"He's gone." Clear and simple.

"Like a trip?"

"Yeah... he's with a _friend_ and he's going to be gone for a long time," I said. No specifics—which is perfect for him... a long time to someone his age can be three days or three years, it makes no real difference.

"Good. I don't like daddy," he said it so honestly that I couldn't help but smile. (Wow! Two smiles in one day! This is big!)

"No one does." Except for maybe that 'girl' who ran off with him (I didn't want to think about what my mom called her). I was sure that once that 'girl' sobers up, she will regret everything she did. I kind of wanted to feel bad for her... she is probably _way_ too young to be running away with my dad, but then again I'd feel bad for anyone who has to put up with him.

"Hannah, bring Justin and come over here!" my mom called, her voice sounded different. I picked up Justin and brought him to the small excuse for a living room. My mom was looking down at her hands.

"You have no idea how ashamed I am to say this but... I'm a drunk. You're probably thinking something along the lines of 'No duh!' but I needed you to know that I am finally aware of the fact and I am going to do something about. I no longer have your father holding me back," she took a huge breath. "I going to rehab..."

I felt tears fall down my cheek simultaneously with my mother's, the weird thing was that I wasn't sad. I was happy. I was happy for my mother. I gave my mother a hug. This time it wasn't awkward, it was natural. She was doing the best thing for our family. "Of course this means I can't be with you two. You will have to stay with your grandparents."

"We have grandparents? Since when? I thought they died a long time ago?" I bombarded my mom with questions.

"Not your father's parents, mine. They threw me out of the house when I married you dad. They were fine with me getting pregnant, but they hated us together. I've already called them and I told them I left your father and they were more than willing to help as long as you are nothing like him."

I wasn't sure what to think. These people ignored us all my life and now suddenly they want to see us. "What'd you tell them?"

"The truth. You can't stand your father anymore than I can and you look just like you grandparents. Justin has my dad's strong features and you have your grandmother's classic beauty. The both of you have my green eyes and the only good thing about your father," Mom explained. I was dwelling on the fact that my mother had just called me pretty.

"What's that?"

"You both have his dimples. That was the only thing I ever really loved about him and you two have that and only that," She was smiling. Justin giggled a cute sound that only toddlers can pull off. I had never realized how beautiful my mother was—when she was sober.

"Thank you," I blurted. It was all I could say. "When do we leave?"

"I didn't want to spend to much time in this house with all the distractions," she explained. "You leave tomorrow. Your first time on a plane and it's without me."

"Where do they live?"


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mason:

I've had just about enough of all of it. "Hey, guys, knock it off," I said in a not very convincing tone. I didn't want them to think I was a total buzz-kill but I could see they were hurting him. "Seriously, guys."

"Oh my God! You're gonna kill him!" one of the girlfriends shouted. She seemed to be more afraid that they would be caught then that he would die. The poor kid made the mistake of thinking that Damon Brooks would be his friend. The only reason I was considered good enough to be his friend (less 'friend' more of an ignorant accessory) was because we have known each other since second grade where I beat up a kid that was pounding on him. He told me I could hang out with him as long as I never told anyone.

Right now he was busy beating the kid up simply to show that he was the bigger, stronger guy and he was better than everyone else. "Mason! Be lookout!" Damon said between punches.

I looked around. We were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. A couple of street lamps every few miles, some houses scattered around. Damon's punching bag yelped out in pain. Someone in the house closest to us must have heard because the lights in the house turned on I looked over at Damon and his buddies about to tell them but instead they were already gone, leaving the unconscious freshman behind. I should have been running too, I should have been bolting before the police came, but instead I took out my phone and dialed 911 in my head repeating the same words, "They set me up". When the operators voice asked me what had happened I was prepared to lie my ass off. "Hello, I found an unconscious boy on the corner of Grove and 84th ."

I tried getting the boy to wake up without me having to touch him. Bad things tend to happen when I touch people.

When the police came followed by an ambulance, I left him behind and ran for it. I really hoped the boy didn't remember who was there that night, and if he did I hoped he at least remembered that I was the one that stayed. I could just imagine someone putting a gold star next to my name. This had to make up for _something_.

I watched from the bushes making sure he was found. The worst part of it all is that I don't even know the kid's name. I live in Florida in a town that _defines _small towns. One of those towns that everyone knows everyone and you never have to lock your doors, because you trust your neighbors. Well, that is unless you live near Damon. He's the kid fathers' threaten not to touch their daughters and mothers' keep their children far away from.


End file.
